


At The Stable Door

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Elenium/Tamuli Series - David & Leigh Eddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1632062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by Borusa</p>
            </blockquote>





	At The Stable Door

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kirst Ravensoul

 

 

The horses shifted restlessly in the stable, their breathing audible, echoing from the wooden walls. Still, Khalad thought, it was quieter than the farmhouse. It was nice enough of Sparhawk, Kalten, Berit and just about everyone else to come back home with him and his brothers, but it did rather fill the place up. And the range of excuses offered varied from the weak ("going that way anyway") to the pathetic ("I want the recipe for that stew of your mother's"). So the Pandion novice and squire had retreated to the stables. Here, among the smell of horse and leather, of straw and wood, he could at least have a few moments peace. He started to brush down one of the horses - not Faran. He was here for relaxation, not the kind of confrontation *that* would entail.

Berit stood by the door. Not exactly hiding, but not making his presence known. His eyes fixed on the hands of the man - for Khalad was undeniably a man now - strong, and purposeful, moving over the hide of the horse in smooth movements. Berit's chest felt like someone was wrapping their arms around him and squeezing hard. Each breath was an effort, and to his ears sounded louder than a clap of thunder. He shook his head, disgusted with himself, and turned away, attempting to walk quietly. In the stable, Khalad lifted his head slightly, but soon returned to his labours.

***

Khalad's first real experience of combat went surprisingly well, until he failed to notice a crucial detail. 

They'd been out patrolling the hills a couple of days ride from Cimmura, where there'd been reports of bandits. Not really the stuff the militant orders were created for, but it was a good way to gain experience that didn't involve hitting other Pandions. They'd found the bandit camp without too much trouble, and the little skirmish that ensued had been going pretty well, until Khalad became aware that he'd failed to notice the archer hidden amongst a knot of low brush on the hillside. 

The clue to his omission, he thought, logically enough, was the arrow that had penetrated his armour and pierced his shoulder. He could see the flights sticking out in front of him. As he lost consciousness, he made a mental note to not allow this sort of thing to happen again.

***

Khalad was submerged in a lake of thick liquid. Submerged and sinking. Struggling for the serfice. Every time Khalad he reached it, it felt like it had only been moments since he had last breathed, but at the same time it seemed like days. Every time, he was aware of a presence, reaching out to him. But no matter how much he called, how much he reached, he could never touch him. And then Khalad would sink back into that warm, comfortable lake.

Eventually, the young knight's fever broke, and he regained consciousness and lucidity. He was sleeping, in his room in the infirmary, at the Chapterhouse, or rather he was dozing, his eyes closed, when he heard voices. "He'll be OK?" "Yes, he'll make a full recovery. Providing certain people don't keep hanging around his room!" "I just wanted... to be sure. He's very promising. And... Kurik..." There was nothing for it, Khalad decided. Something had to be done about this.

***

"Berit? Can I have a word?"

The voice of the son of Kurik disturbed the Pandion Knight's reverie. He looked up. "Yes, Talen?" he said.

The ex-thief sat down, opposite him. "No hitting!" he said, laughter in his voice. The methods used in Talen's education had long since become a running joke between them.

"No hitting," Berit agreed, curious as to what this was about.

"You like my brother," Talen said, characteristically direct. "And you're feeling guilty about it. Why?"

Berit's muscles locked. When his voice came, it felt to him that it was someone else speaking. Someone a long way away. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

Talen rolled his eyes. "Anyone with more than half a wit can see it. So, why do you feel so guilty."

The blond Pandion's mouth was dry. He struggled to speak, could only manage to croak one word. "Harparin."

Talen looked at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Well, yes, I suppose if that's your only example, you might feel a bit guilty. My brother is not a child, Berit. You should talk to him."

Berit swallowed, confusion and hope roiling in his brain.

"He's expecting you," Talen insisted. "And you don't want to disappoint him. He's capable of quite devious revenge."

***

Every step that Berit took, up to the Khalad's room in the infirmary, felt like it covered leagues. Eventually, he knocked, timidly, on the door.

"Come in, Berit," Khalad's voice came. It was stronger than Berit expected. 

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. "How...how did you know it was me?" he asked.

"The same way I knew it was you at the stable, that time at Mother's farm," Khalad said. The young knight was sitting up, his torso naked but for the bandages over his shoulder. "The same way I knew it was you that was here when I was feverish."

Berit looked blank, and anywhere but at Khalad.

"Father always told us that Church Knights smell of their armour. You wash slightly more often than some, but you still smell exactly like your armour. Don't try to sneak past someone who's a squire and a Pandion, Berit. It's not possible."

Berit managed to make his legs work, enough to bring him closer. "You...knew? All this time?"

"Sit down," Khalad said, his dark eyes fixing on the older Pandion's, dragging Berit's eyes towards his. "Of course I knew. But I didn't know if it was just temporary, or if you meant it."

"I..." Berit's tongue felt huge in his mouth. "I meant it."

Khalad reached his hand up to stroke the cheek of the other man. Berit shuddered, then froze. "Stop feeling guilty," Khalad said. His hand dropped to the blond's neck, gently guiding him, making him lean over the bed. Despite the fact that Berit was fully aware of what was happening, he felt off balance, unable to stop. Surely he should resist this? Report himself to Vanion then ride off to whatever cloistered life was left to him? And then Khalad's lips touched his, and - for the moment, at least - guilt was washed away, along with everybody and every place that wasn't here, or him.

 


End file.
